


Dreams Disjointed

by MrSpockify



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Irondad, Paralysis, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Tony Stark Has A Heart, because I'm like that - Freeform, hurt real bad, spiderson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-04 02:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16338416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSpockify/pseuds/MrSpockify
Summary: "Tony closed his eyes, but he could hear Peter’s body slam onto the concrete of the sidewalk, followed by wild screams from the crowd."Spider-Man suffers some major injuries, leaving Peter partially paralyzed and unable to cope.





	1. Chapter 1

Tony was tinkering around in his lab when F.R.I.D.A.Y. piped up. “I think you’ll want to see this, sir.” A television screen sparked to life to his left. Tony turned his attention to the woman on screen with a microphone standing out on a street. A crowd of people rushed around behind her, seeming frantic.  
  
“I’m getting word that we now have footage from what transpired just moments ago. I must warn the viewers, this video is graphic.”  
  
At that moment Pepper ran into the lab, breathless. “Are you watching this?” She paused beside him, eyes glued to the screen.  
  
A shaky video clearly taken on a phone started playing, almost dizzying with all the jerky motions of the crowd pushing around. It panned up to the top of a tall building and zoomed in. “It’s Spider-Man!” the man behind the camera yelled. He and the crowd around him hollered in support, clapping and pointing to the action.  
  
Tony watched as Peter jumped around in his suit near the ledge of the building, dodging what looked like long, metal limbs. They grabbed at him and swung back and forth, but Spider-Man was quicker, hitting him with webs and dodging every strike. They went on like that for a few moments, but suddenly one of the arms managed to hit Spider-Man in the shoulder. He stumbled just for a fraction of a second, but that was enough for his enemy to gain the higher ground. The metal arms knocked him back and forth, grabbed him by the midsection, and smashed him into the ledge of the building, sending a few bricks tumbling to the ground. The hero struggled violently to gain control back, but an arm gripped his head and slowly lifted him up. He was driven hard into the building again, then hurled out into the air.  
  
The crowd gasped together and fell silent.  
  
Spider-Man’s limp body seemed to be falling in slow-motion.  
  
Tony held his breath.  
  
Partway down, Spider-Man nearly folded in half backwards over a protruding bar.  
  
Pepper covered her mouth.  
  
Tony closed his eyes, but he could hear Peter’s body slam onto the concrete of the sidewalk, followed by wild screams from the crowd. The video ended abruptly, returning to the newscaster.  
  
“An ambulance has already taken Spider-Man away, but his location has not been made available. The question on everyone’s mind: Is Spider-Man alive?”  
  
Before she even finished her question, Tony was asking F.R.I.D.A.Y. to locate the hospital Peter had been taken to. He ran out of the lab, Pepper close behind.  
  
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. why didn’t you alert me when this happened?” he demanded.  
  
“Mr. Parker seems to have disabled the monitor in his suit,” the AI replied.  
  
Tony cursed under his breath, hurrying to the parking garage. Just as he slammed his car door shut, F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced that she had located the hospital.  
  
***  
  
Only a select team of doctors was allowed into the hospital room that held none other than Spider-Man himself. The paramedics had cut open the chest of his suit on the way, and had only lifted the mask halfway up his face, enough to administer oxygen. It wasn’t until he was safely hidden in the hospital room that his full suit was removed, and once that was done the room was sealed off to everyone. When Tony Stark strolled in, however, they made an exception.  
  
Tony felt numb standing at the end of the hospital bed, listening to the doctor list all of the injuries. All of the complications. Peter looked younger than usual. Small and fragile under the white sheet. His face was almost unrecognizable underneath the slew of bandages. All that was visible of his face was his swollen black eyes, scratched cheeks, and split lip stretched around a respirator tube. He had a brace around his neck, bandages and casts on his limbs, and straps holding him to the bed.  
  
“…the worst of it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with a higher metabolism. We’re pumping him with enough drugs to keep a horse down, but he still comes to every once in a while. We have to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself any more than he already has.”  
  
Tony sucked in a breath and nodded at the doctor, who left the room so they could be alone. He moved to stand over the boy, a tight knot forming in his throat. He cleared his throat and distracted himself by focusing on the heart monitor’s steady beeping.  
  
Peter was fine. He was fine. Or, at least, he was alive. As long as the monitor kept up its steady rhythm, then he was going to be okay. He was going to be okay. He _had _to be okay.__  
  
Tony’s breath caught, and he coughed lightly. He went to touch Peter’s face, but thought better and settled for the space beside him on the pillow. He fought against the stinging in his eyes.  
  
“I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“You can’t win, Spidey. Give up while you still can.”_  
  
_Peter was heaving with every breath, and every inch of his body ached. He’d been chasing this guy all over the city. He was a persistent villain, he had to give him that._  
  
_“I don’t give up,” he replied, trying to sound braver than he felt. Peter shook out his muscles, rolled his neck, and crouched down. “Come on!”_  
  
_He leaped forward. ___  
  
  
***  
  
The pain came back suddenly.  
  
Peter didn’t know where he was or what was happening. All he knew was that he was in pain. A _lot _of pain. He felt like he couldn’t move, though. He wanted to stretch his aching muscles, curl up in a ball, anything, really. But it was like there was a huge weight on his chest. It felt like something was holding him down.__  
Wait, no, that was real. Peter was starting to come back into his body, and he realized that there was something keeping his arms down. If he wasn’t in so much pain, he probably would have tried to tear free. Instead, he moaned and opened his eyes.  
  
The lights were way too bright. He screwed up his face in response, which only made him hurt worse. The pain pulsed through his face and into his body, pumping in time to his heart. His body throbbed along with some beeping noise. What was that noise?  
  
Beep… Beep… Beep…  
  
Peter tried to ignore the sound, but then he could hear the electric hum of fluorescent lights, too. The mechanical sound of machinery to one side. The clicking of heels coming towards him.  
  
He groaned again, but this time he choked on something. There was something lodged in his throat. What was that? He tried coughing it up, but that made everything so much worse. His chest seemed to collapse in on itself with pain as the rest of his body tensed up. It was hard to breath. He couldn’t take in any air. What was _happening _?__  
  
BeepBeepBeep  
  
Peter started to panic. He needed to get out. Something wasn’t right. He started to pull against the restraints on his arms, fighting the tears that sprung into his eyes. He couldn’t move his head to look around the room and assess the situation. His spidey senses were going haywire, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He wanted to cry out for help. _Please _.__  
  
Voices erupted around him, and suddenly there were hands all over his body. They pressed him down hard and held him still. There was pressure everywhere, building and building until Peter was sure he would be flattened entirely. They were _hurting _him. God, please, why were they hurting him? What was going on?__  
  
One voice in particular stood out from the rest, calling to him urgently. Peter tried to focus in, to listen to it, but everything was so loud and _so much _. A shadowy figure appeared above his head, thankfully blocking out some of the harsh lighting. He blinked through his tears to try and see more clearly.__  
  
“Kid? Kid, are you listening? Can you hear me?”  
  
Yes. Wait, who is that? The voice is familiar and comforting. It settles Peter down a bit, enough for him to center his attention. Through a dark haze, he started to make out features on the face above him. A pinched expression, a downturned mouth, worried eyes. Why was he worried? Mr. Stark? What had Mr. Stark so worked up?  
  
“Please, you gotta calm down, buddy. You’re hurting yourself,” Mr. Stark said, and Peter’s body was beginning to settle down. He wasn’t doing it, though. Peter still wanted to fight against the restraints and the hands. He wanted to get up and have someone tell him what was going on. But suddenly he was so… tired. The pain was subsiding, which was nice. But so was his mind. Mr. Stark’s voice disappeared. The hands had vanished. The lights were dim. The pain was gone.  
  
Peter let himself slip away.  
  
***  
  
Tony was immensely grateful that May hadn’t been there to see her nephew wake up. Peter’s body struggling against straps and doctors, choking on tubes, staring into his face with fear and pain. It was more than Tony could handle. Now the kid was back under, silent once again. Peaceful.  
  
Pepper walked in the room, arm hooked on a frantic-looking May. She nearly collapsed at the sight of her nephew, placing a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob. Tony had to look away and clear his throat to keep from doing the same.  
  
“Peter…” May whispered, walking forward with all the caution of a mouse. Her hands hovered over the broken body, trying desperately to find somewhere safe to touch. She settled for playing lightly with a strand of hair peeking out of bandages. Her hands were shaking. “What happened?”  
  
It took a moment for Tony to realize she was speaking to him. Clearing his throat again, he stepped up to the other side of Peter’s bed. “He was in the middle of a fight. He—” Tony wasn’t sure what to say. He was beaten mercilessly and thrown off a huge building? He was being Spider-Man, an occupation that Tony himself encouraged, and nearly died while on duty? He was almost dead because of Tony? Sorry May, I almost killed your nephew? “He fell from a building.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but he was sure May would read about the details later in the news.  
  
“My baby,” she choked out. He could tell she wanted nothing more than to scoop him up into her arms, a comforting gesture that would only cause him more pain.  
Pepper walked up and placed a hand on May’s shoulder. “He’s going to be okay. Once the doctors clear it, we can take Peter up to the compound where we can give him more individualized care. They don’t really have equipment here to deal with a superhero.”  
  
May looked panicked, glancing between Pepper and her nephew. Tony held out a hand to catch her attention. “You’re welcome to stay there with him. We have plenty of room, and I know he’d want to have you there.” That seemed to calm her down, and she nodded in agreement.  
  
Tony and Pepper left her alone with Peter, giving them their space. While Pepper headed off to square away details with the hospital, Tony found an empty break room and sat. It wasn’t long before a young nurse knocked on the door frame.  
  
“Mr. Stark?” The young man walked over, holding a bag out. “We weren’t sure what to do with this. It didn’t seem like something we should throw away.” Tony took the bag from him and the nurse quickly walked back out.  
  
One glance inside the bag revealed an array of red and blue scraps of fabric, barely resembling the suit it had once been. He reached in and pulled some of the tattered material out. It was covered in dust and rubble from the concrete sidewalk. It had a mix of rips from the fight and cleanly cut lines from surgical scissors. Some of the red was darker, and Tony knew it was blood, already dried and crusted.  
  
Holding it now, Tony could feel how thin it was. How fragile. What had he been thinking when he made this? How was this supposed to keep Peter safe? The kid was strong, but he certainly wasn’t invincible. He should have made him something stronger. Something that would have protected him from this sort of thing. Here he was, flying around in an iron, bulletproof suit, and he sent a child out in some spandex and called it a day.  
  
Tony shoved the cloth back into the bag and crumpled it in his hands. His breaths came in thick, wet waves. His chest felt heavy with the knowledge that he easily could have kept this from happening. It was fault. He hung his head and let the guilt wash over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I promise I intend to have an actually conscious Peter in the next chapter! Dude just needed a little rest (don't we all).


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some self-harm in this chapter.
> 
> Also, thanks everyone for reading!

Thanks to his enhanced healing, Peter was able to be relocated to the Avenger’s compound within a week. Tony was more than relieved when, under Bruce’s care, most of the facial bandages were removed and the kid no longer needed assistance with breathing. Even with the few bruises left on his face, Peter looked much better. He certainly felt better, too, with anesthesia created in the lab specifically to work with his metabolism, ensuring it wouldn’t wear off within minutes. Tony was grateful he wouldn’t have to strap the kid down like an animal anymore.  
  
Tony walked into the private hospital room to find May talking to a sleepy looking Peter, catching him up on random events. She was just finishing up about a news story she read about involving sewer rats coming up through toilets.  
  
“Mis’er Stark,” Peter greeted, eyes lighting up. His jaw still hadn’t completely healed from its dislocation, so the kid had a bit of a slur to his words. He was also still on a soft food diet.  
  
“Alright, here we go,” Tony said, setting a tray down on Peter’s lap. May pressed a button so that Peter’s bed sat upright to allow him to eat. “We’ve got the world’s most nutritious and probably disgusting smoothie, so you can thank Cap for that one,” he pointed to a cup with thick, green sludge. “Soup, rice, applesauce… I think this is baby food,” Tony pointed to a small tin of orange substance, earning a chuckle from Peter. “And seven varieties of Jell-O.” Indeed, he had found every flavor he could and stacked them all onto the tray, hoping to brighten up the kid’s spirit. Peter was awake now, but still barely able to move.  
  
“Thanks, Tony,” May said, picking up a spoon. He watched as she scooped up some applesauce and brought it to the kid’s lips, feeding him like a baby. Tony didn’t think he’d ever looked so young. He turned and left to give them some privacy, knowing Peter was a little embarrassed about having to be helped with everything. Just last week he was swinging from buildings and climbing up walls, and now he was bedridden and unable to even pick up a utensil.  
  
Out in the hallway, Tony nearly bumped into Bruce, who was staring at some papers with a furrowed brow. He looked up from his work and paused.  
  
“Are you busy?” Bruce asked, and something in his tone seemed off.  
  
“No, what’s up?” Tony let Bruce lead him further down the hall, away from Peter’s room, and into the lab. Bruce pressed some buttons on the screen and brought up a projection of medical files.  
  
“Overall, Peter’s doing really well with his recovery,” Bruce started, and Tony felt himself relax a little. “Almost all of the bruising and swelling has gone down and the fractures are healing up nicely. Even the issues in his pelvis and shoulders are working themselves out. His body is incredibly resilient.”  
  
“That’s great news,” Tony said. He was looking at the data, and sure enough, things were improving. “He should be back up in a couple months, then. Maybe earlier, knowing that kid.”  
  
“Well, that’s the thing,” Bruce said softly. Tony felt his heart sink as he turned back to the doctor. “Tony, he suffered extreme stress on his spinal cord and vertebrae. It repaired itself enough to avoid the worst case scenario, but,” he paused, grimacing as he made eye contact with Tony, “he’s got some pretty severe nerve damage.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Tony asked hoarsely. He crossed his arms tightly to keep his hands from shaking. Bruce noticed them anyway, giving a small, sympathetic smile.  
  
“Honestly? At this point I don’t know. We don’t know enough about how his powers affect his body to accurately predict anything.” Bruce stopped again, seeming to mull over his words, carefully choosing what to say next. “I don’t think he’ll be paralyzed completely or permanently, but his movement and sensation below the waist is definitely not going to be the way it was before. Maybe with some intense physical therapy he can gain some of it back, but—” Bruce didn’t need to continue. There would be complications. It was going to be extremely difficult on the kid. It might not even work. He wasn’t going to be the same, ever again.  
  
“Thanks, Bruce,” he whispered.  
  
“Of course, Tony.” After a pause, he added, “I think he needs to know about it.”  
  
Tony nodded. “I’ll tell him.” He had no idea how he would do it, but he knew he had to. He owed Peter that much. 

  


***  
  
Telling Peter proved harder than he originally thought. At first, he wanted to wait until Peter had finished eating his Jell-O. Then Tony figured he didn’t want to ruin the kid’s night, so he would wait until morning. But the week was almost over, so maybe he’d just wait until then. But the days kept passing, and Tony could never find the right moment to tell him.  
  
All of Peter’s other injuries slowly began healing. The bruises painting his body and face had disappeared, one shoulder was out of a sling, and, much to the kid’s delight, his jaw was completely healed. The first thing he asked for was a greasy burger, and he chomped into it—with May’s help—gleefully. The brace around his neck still needed to stay, but he was regaining movement, able to shake his head slightly. His bones were mending themselves, and he was projected to be out of his casts in just a few days. He was excited to finally leave the hospital bed.  
  
“I’m so tired of just lying here all day. I can’t wait until I can get up and go pee on my own,” Peter joked, smiling at his aunt. She laughed. “I miss showers. Oh my God, I want to take a shower,” he groaned and closed his eyes. “And curl into a ball. And sleep on my side. Ugh, I even miss sitting in chairs at school. That’s so lame.” He looked at May, and they both laughed.  
  
Tony’s heart broke.  
  
“Well, kiddo, you have to remember you’re still not going to be at a hundred percent yet,” Tony interjected, trying his damnedest to keep his tone light. “I mean, you’ve been laying here so long, your legs probably look like noodles at this point.” Peter laughed, which only hurt Tony more.  
  
“Yeah, I guess I’ll need to step up my exercise regimen for a while, huh?”  
  
“We can go to the gym together,” May said, nodding for a moment before they both dissolved into laughter. “Peter, I love you, but not enough to start using a locker room again. I left that behind in middle school and I’m not going back,” she said seriously, her lips quirking into a slight smile.  
  
It was now or never.  
  
“Actually, Peter…” His words caught in his throat when those big, brown eyes stared up at him. He fought the urge to look away. “You know how badly you were hurt. If it was anyone else…”  
  
“If it was anyone else, they’d be dead,” Peter said mockingly. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard that about five hundred times now.”  
  
“Well, it’s true. And you should know, even with your powers, your injuries were really, really bad. You know that, right?” He waited until Peter gave a small nod, his full attention on Tony now. “It’s not going to be like it was before. You… You broke your back, Pete. That’s a serious injury.”  
  
“Tony,” May interrupted, reaching out and grasping one of her nephew’s hands over the bandages. “What do you mean? He’s going to be okay, right? I thought he was going to be okay.”  
  
“He is! He is, I promise,” Tony assured. Everyone in the room seemed to relax a little, and he took a moment to resettle and think about how to phrase it. “There’s probably going to be some lasting nerve damage. You’ll need physical therapy.” He sighed, and finally looked down at the floor. “You might not be able to walk.”  
  
No one said anything for a long time, and Tony thought he might actually explode. A small sound from the bed made him look up, and he saw Peter desperately trying to hold back tears. The kid bit his lower lip and stifled a whimper.  
  
May was the first to break the silence. “Will it be permanent?”  
  
“No,” Tony replied. “Nothing is really certain, but he shouldn’t be completely paralyzed, and it will get better with therapy. It’ll be hard work, but he should be able to gain most of his feeling and movement back.”  
  
“Most?” Peter croaked from the bed. Tony wanted to jump out the window. It would definitely be less painful than this.  
  
“Yeah, kiddo. Like I said, it’s not going to be like it was before.” Another long bout of silence followed, and finally Peter spoke up again.  
  
“I want to be alone,” he whispered. May tried to argue, placing a hand on his cheek, but he cut her off. “Please, I want to be alone. I’m tired.” She nodded and kissed him on the forehead.  
  
Tony wished he could take it all back and start over. Actually, he wished he had never started in the first place. This was exactly why he didn’t want to say anything. Why he couldn’t say anything.  
  
Peter refused to look at either Tony or May again, so the two left the room in silence, parting ways once out the door.  
  
***  
  
The casts on his arms came off first, and Peter stretched his arms out in every direction and wiggled his fingers. The neck brace was next, but Peter was more careful with that one. He slowly rocked his head back and forth, stretching the muscles for the first time in what felt like forever. All that was left was the casts on his legs.  
  
Peter steeled himself. He had been preparing for this all week now, and he tried not to get his hopes up. He tried not to believe that his healing powers would magically make him all better, proving Mister Stark and Dr. Banner wrong. He tried. He really did.  
  
The casts came off, and his legs looked weird. It was the muscle atrophy, he assumed. With a deep breath, he tried to stretch out his legs, point his feet, wiggle his toes, anything. The most he got was a small, jerky twitch in his left calf. He sighed.  
  
“That’s good,” Dr. Banner said, pointing to the leg. “I know it might not seem like a lot, but any muscle movement it a good sign.” He smiled gently, and Peter tried to smile back. It was hard.  
  
“That’s great,” Tony said, clapping a hand on Peter’s shoulder. They smiled at each other, but Peter knew that neither of them actually felt happy. Suddenly Tony’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he walked out of the room to answer it after squeezing Peter’s shoulder supportively.  
  
Dr. Banner gathered his tools, nodded to Peter and his aunt, and headed out to give them some privacy.  
  
“Are you alright, sweetie?” May asked, lacing her fingers into Peter’s hair and rubbing gentle circles with her thumb. He leaned into the touch.  
  
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he mumbled. He knew this was how it would be. This is exactly what he was told to expect. Still, experiencing it was different. And deep down he had really hoped he would defy the odds. He was Spider-Man for God’s sake. Wasn’t he defying odds just by _existing _?__  
  
“Is there anything you need?” May asked. The sympathy in her voice made Peter ache. He didn’t want to be pitied. He didn’t want his loved ones to look down on him like he was a helpless child.  
  
“Could you get me some more Jell-O?” he asked. He didn’t really want any more. He had eaten more Jell-O in the past few weeks than he ever had in his life. Peter just wanted to be alone for a while, but he knew it hurt May’s feelings when he asked her to leave him alone.  
  
“Of course, I’ll be right back.” She stood up and left, leaving Peter to stare down at his legs. His stupid, useless legs. He tried moving them again, but all he got was that little twitch in his left leg.  
  
Peter brought a hand down to rest on his thigh. He felt nothing. He knew what it should feel like, and in some way his memory filled in certain gaps, but in reality there was no sensation. He rubbed his thumb, pressed down harder, and even pinched the skin, leaving crescent-shaped indents from his nails. Still, nothing.  
  
He was starting to feel panicky. It was all too much. Or, rather, not enough. No matter how much he focused, how hard he tried, he couldn’t move his legs. He couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t feel _anything _. Peter suddenly found it hard to breath. He wanted to escape, to run away from everything, but of course he couldn’t. He was stuck here. He was trapped.__  
  
Peter looked around wildly, and his eyes settled on the tray of finished food on the bedside table. A silver fork caught his eye, so he reached over and took it. The metal was cold in his fist, the handle hard. He could feel _this _, at least. It was _something _.____  
  
In retrospect, he wasn’t sure why he did it. He knew instantly that it was a mistake. But suddenly Peter was staring down at where he held the fork tightly in his grasp. The prongs were gone. No, they weren’t gone. There was blood. It was his blood. The prongs were jabbed into his thigh. Blood welled up around the fork and dripped down the inner part of his thigh, onto the white sheets.  
  
He didn’t feel a thing.  
  
Coming down from some sort of adrenaline rush, Peter let out a strangled cry. He had _stabbed _himself. What was he _thinking _?____  
  
The fork came out with a gross, wet sound, and more blood poured out of the wound. Peter put his free hand over it, trying to stop the blood flow. He kept the fork tight in the other hand, shaking uncontrollably.  
  
“I wasn’t sure what flavor to get, so—” Aunt May dropped a tray with a few Jell-O cups onto the floor and rushed to Peter’s side. He looked up at her and let out a loud sob. He could barely see her through his tears, but he could tell she was distraught. “Peter, what did you do? Tony! Help!”  
  
May pressed her own hand over his wound now. He dropped the fork onto the floor, wincing at the sharp sound it made hitting the tile. His fingers laced into his hair and pulled. He knew he was getting blood all over himself, but he didn’t care. He just kept sobbing, feeling himself getting louder and louder.  
  
Tony came running in, and instantly he was at Peter’s other side, calling for Dr. Banner and doing his best to help stop the blood. There were four hands that weren’t his own now holding his legs, wiping away blood, pressing down on an open wound.  
  
“I can’t feel anything,” Peter cried, reaching down. His hands trembled and moved over May’s and Tony’s. He wanted to make sure they were real. He needed to feel them. “I can’t feel anything,” he repeated.  
  
Dr. Banner rushed up beside him, gently ushering May away from the bed. He quickly went to work cleaning the wound and patching it up. Tony stepped back, staring at the blood on his hands.  
  
“I can’t feel anything!” Peter repeated again, louder. Why wasn’t anyone listening? Why didn’t they care? A sob from deep in his chest exploded, and now Peter couldn’t hold anything back. He was fighting against the doctor, then suddenly he was fighting against Tony and May while they tried to hold his arms down. “I CAN’T FEEL ANYTHING! I CAN’T FEEL ANYTHING!” Peter screamed, his throat burning in protest. His words dissolved into meaningless cries, and he desperately tried to pull away from the hands at his arms. He tried to ignore the hands at his legs. The ones he wasn’t actually sure were still there.  
  
Tony disappeared from his side, then Peter suddenly felt a prick on his neck, followed by the familiar sting of an injection. He screamed in protest. He wanted to scream at everything. He wanted to leave. He wanted to break things. He wanted to _feel _.__  
  
It was getting harder to do anything. His movements slowed, his body suddenly very heavy. Peter could hear his voice getting smaller, shrinking into nothing but pitiful whimpers. He was tired. He closed his eyes tightly as everything around him faded away. Before he slipped into unconsciousness, Peter was keenly aware of a thought burning in his mind, branding itself on his brain.  
  
_I can’t feel anything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped through a lot of time in this chapter, so I hope that's okay with y'all. I didn't think five chapters of Peter laying in bed doing nothing sounded that fun....


	4. Chapter 4

Peter stared up at the ceiling above him, getting lost in the clean, white grid of tiles. Why was everything at the compound so sterile? He felt like, at this point, he’d had a good look at every ceiling in this place, and they all reminded him of a hospital. Mr. Stark was too fond of modern and minimalist designs for his taste. He longed for his bedroom back at his and May’s place, even if it was small and cluttered and dirty. At least it felt like a home.  
  
He sighed, turning his attention back to Natasha. She held his left leg up and was carefully bending his ankle back and forth, stretching the muscles. She was always pretty quiet during these sessions, which Peter appreciated. He requested she be the one to help with his physical therapy, so long as she wasn’t busy. Everyone else made it uncomfortable. May was the first to try, and the first to be asked not to participate again. She was too gentle with her movements, because she didn’t want to hurt her nephew, and she would get choked up more often than not. Tony tried to help after that, but every time Peter would start to get upset, Tony would quickly follow suit. They were both too frustrated with the situation to be helpful. Rhodey even offered his services, which was kind, considering he didn’t really know the kid. Peter thought it would be good to have him there, but after a few days of trying to be convinced into using leg braces like he had, Peter respectfully asked for someone else. He didn’t need leg braces. He was going to get better.  
  
And so they tried Black Widow, who surprised everyone by instantly becoming Peter’s favorite. She didn’t give him pitiful looks or try to make awkward small-talk. She did her work, encouraged him in ways that didn’t make him feel like a broken toy, and then went on her merry way. He appreciated the normalcy.  
  
“Press against my hand,” she ordered, placing her palm against the bottom of his foot. Peter took a deep breath and focused all his energy towards his ankle, willing it to move. His hands gripped the sides of the platform he laid on, and he felt sweat dripping down from his hairline. Finally, he felt his foot moving forward, pressing against Natasha’s hand. It wasn’t strong, by any means, but still. It was something. She smiled at him, and Peter gave a small smile back.  
  
“Nice job, Peter,” she said, setting his leg back down. “That’s the fastest response time yet.”  
  
Peter didn’t reply, too embarrassed by the way he was out of breath from the session. He used to be able to scale entire buildings without being winded, and now here he was struggling not to wheeze just from trying to move his legs. He pushed himself to sit upright and let Natasha help him back into his wheelchair.  
  
After a quick thanks, Peter wheeled his way out of the room and down the hall, his arms aching less than usual. He was getting more used to his new way of transportation. If it had been up to Mr. Stark, Peter would have been given the newest, most expensive wheelchair available. Hell, he probably would have made a newer, more expensive version just for him. But Peter just wanted to feel normal, so he asked for a regular old wheelchair that he could push himself, rather than an automatic one. He needed to be able to move himself. He could hardly stand it not being able to walk, so he couldn’t even imagine how frustrated he would feel if he was forced to be completely immobile, only using a small flick of his wrist to move around. The thought made him shudder.  
  
For now, at least, Peter had time for a break. He usually tried to spend this time alone, since at every other moment during the day he had at least one person smothering him with attention whether he liked it or not. He took the elevator down and made his way into the kitchen, thankful to find it empty. In the fridge, on the bottom shelf, was a small container labelled with his name and a little note scribbled on top.  
  
_Eat the veggies this time ___  
_-Pepper ___  
  
He snorted and set the box on his lap, wheeling off in hopes of making it to his room before anyone could catch him.  
  
Of course, he had no such luck.  
  
“Hey, Pete!” An overly enthusiastic voice called out to him, too loud for Peter to pretend he didn’t hear. He tried that once. Didn’t go well.  
  
“Hi, Steve,” he replied, spinning around to face the Avenger. He was rooting through the fridge and started taking out food to make a sandwich. Peter watched him stack an ungodly amount of protein in between two slices of bread.  
  
“How about we eat together?” Steve gestured to the kitchen table, already biting into his sandwich. Peter sighed and followed him over. So much for alone time.  
  
“What’ve you been up to today?” Steve asked, his chipper voice putting Peter on edge.  
  
“Breakfast, physical therapy, schoolwork, physical therapy, and now I’m here,” he replied, poking at his food absently. “After this I have, surprise, surprise… physical therapy.” He sighed again and started munching on a green bean, hoping Pepper would be pleased.  
  
“Oh, well,” Steve said, “you’re doing great. So I’ve heard.” He cleared his throat and kept eating. Peter could see the awkwardness starting to drift over the Captain’s face. This was why he wanted to be alone. Everyone got uncomfortable around him, but no one ever admitted it. They just pretended everything was business as usual.  
  
They ate the rest of the meal mostly in silence, with the occasional attempt at conversation from Steve. Peter felt bad for shutting the conversations down with nonverbal or one-word responses, but he really didn’t feel like appeasing people today.  
  
Peter finished eating first, and briefly debated whether he should stay until Steve finished, then quickly decided not to. At this point he didn’t have time to go be alone somewhere for a while, either, so he figured he might as well go in for his next round of physical therapy. These sessions weren’t so bad, anyways.  
  
He made his way up to Dr. Banner’s lab and rolled in just as the man was putting away some files. They greeted each other amicably and the older man walked into another room to grab materials for their session.  
  
Peter liked Dr. Banner. He was quiet and gentle, and his awkwardness wasn’t because of anything related to Peter—he was just like that. It was refreshing to see someone fumble around for reasons other than his legs.  
  
“Is Mr. Stark coming today?” Peter asked when Dr. Banner returned. The man squatted down in front of him and began making quick work of wrapping straps around his thighs and calves, attaching wires and clicking small buttons on them.  
  
“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” he replied, sympathy laced in his tone.  
  
Peter bit his lip and looked away to avoid the sorry gaze he knew he was getting. Mr. Stark hadn’t come to any of his sessions in several days. He always had some sort of excuse to get out of it, but Peter knew it was because he didn’t want to see the kid. He couldn’t really blame him, though. He figured he was a pretty pitiful sight.  
  
“Ok, I’m going to start stimulation,” Dr. Banner said, standing up and going to a computer screen. He started tapping away, and after a moment Peter heard the instruments start up with a soft buzz that only he could probably hear.  
  
The straps on his legs administered small electrical stimulation to his nerves, making the muscles contract or spasm every few seconds. Peter watched his legs apathetically as they twitched little by little. He had started being able to feel the charges a couple days ago, which Dr. Banner told him was a great thing. Peter wasn’t so sure. He didn’t think this therapy was working. He didn’t think any of his therapy was working. He still couldn’t do anything on his own.  
  
Peter sucked in a deep breath and, without thinking, reached down and ripped the straps off his legs. The current went through his fingers, feeling much stronger than they had on his legs. He ignored the sensation and continued until all the straps were abandoned on the floor.  
  
“Can I please be excused?” Peter asked, already backing his chair away. Dr. Banner looked shocked, but quickly shut down the program and turned away from the computer.  
  
“What’s wrong? Does it hurt? Because if there’s new feeling in your legs, you should—”  
  
“No, sorry,” Peter shook his head. “I just really need to be alone.” That sounded sad, he thought. That was something they’d send Sam up for. He hated when they tried to make him talk to Sam about stuff. “I’m just really tired, Dr. Banner. The session with Nat earlier was pretty intense.” That was better. Everyone usually left him alone if he needed to sleep.  
  
“Oh, okay, sure,” Dr. Banner said, adjusting his glasses. “Go, uh… get some rest.”  
  
Peter turned around and left as quickly as he could. He had to make it to his room now, seven floors up, without getting seen. His enhanced senses were a godsend at times like these. Peter slowed down and listened before every turn he made, making sure not to run into anyone. Eventually he made it to his room and locked the door. With way too much effort and grunting, he pulled himself onto his bed and manually moved his legs up, too. He wasn’t even under the covers, but he didn’t care. He was just tired.  
  
He stared up at the ceiling and sighed. It felt like lately that was all he was ever doing. Everything centered around his legs now, and it was all he could ever think about. Really, all he was ever _allowed _to think about. Every second of every day was spent with the people around him reminding him of his injury. Even the fact that they never mentioned it reminded him. Each moment he wasn’t spending in stupid, useless physical therapy he spent avoiding the looks people gave him, or the uncomfortable conversations none of them wanted to have. He just wished his legs would fucking work so he could go home. He wanted to go back to school and see his friends and be Spider-Man. But no, he was stuck here doing physical therapy and staring up at those white ceilings, day in and day out._  
  
Peter sighed and closed his eyes. He tried not to think._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know a whole lot didn't happen this chapter, so I'm sorry about that. I'm trying to skip ahead in for plot to get to more interesting stuff without skipping HUGE chunks of time. Right now it seems like there's a few weeks in between each chapter. It's not going to be like that the whole time, I promise lol
> 
> Also, I'm starting to pepper in different characters, so if there's someone you want to see, let me know!


	5. Chapter 5

                Tony looked up from his work station and was surprised to see Bruce walk in. He hadn’t had much company in his lab lately, and when someone did stop by it was usually just Pepper forcing him to eat or sleep. He’d gotten pretty accustomed to not having to talk to anyone.

                “Hey, Tony,” Bruce greeted, and Tony replied with a small nod. “What are you working on?” Bruce pointed to the setup on the table, an array of metal rods and wires. At this point it looked more like a pile of junk than anything else, but then again, so had the Iron Man suit at one time.

                “Leg supports for the kid,” he said. _The kid_. The kid he had let down. The kid he had broken. That kid. “I’m using Rhodey’s as a model, but I think I can make some improvements he’ll like. Once I can get his measurements we’ll be able to test it out, which should give me an idea of what to change. I want to put stabilizers down here—”

                “Tony,” Bruce interrupted. Tony knew he was rambling, he just wasn’t sure how to stop. He needed to make this thing perfect for the kid. He had to fix it. Even if it meant he’d be up every night, all night, for the next year, he would do it. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he took a break, even for a minute. As long as his hands were moving and his mind was occupied, he didn’t have to think about anything else. He didn’t have to think about seeing the kid’s limp body, or the _crunch_ of bones as he hit the pavement—

                Tony blinked and forced himself back to the present. He couldn’t think about that.

                “Why are you making this?” Bruce asked.

                “What do you mean _why_?” Tony scoffed and busied his hands with rearranging wires.

                “He doesn’t want this,” Bruce gestured to the project. “He’s said it multiple times, Tony. Peter doesn’t want mechanical supports for his legs.” Tony paused, setting the wires down.

                “I didn’t know that,” he said quietly.

                “That’s because you haven’t talked to him in weeks.” Bruce’s tone was harsher than Tony was used to. “Everyone at the compound knows how Peter feels about this except you, because you’re the only one who isn’t making an effort to go see him. You don’t even know about the progress he’s made, do you? He’s doing really well, you know. You’d be proud.”

                “I shouldn’t have to be proud in the first place,” Tony said, struggling to find the words while also trying not to break down into tears. “Bruce, I’m the one who put him in that hospital bed. I gave him that suit, I encouraged him to put himself in danger, and now he’s… He’s like _that_ because of me. I can’t see him.” He turned back to his work, staring at the pile of metal. _Useless_. Tony wasn’t sure if he meant the leg supports or himself, but either way he scrapped his project, pushing it off the table and into a bin.

                “He asks for you every day,” Bruce nearly whispered. When Tony didn’t reply, he just sighed and turned to walk away. “I’m tired of making excuses for you.” With that, Bruce left the lab, and silence engulfed the room once more.

                Why would the kid ask for him anyway? Why would he want to see Tony after that? But Bruce had said he was getting better, making progress. Maybe if he was healing then Tony could feel less guilty.

                No, no. Definitely not less guilty. That wasn’t going away any time soon. But maybe if he could see the kid, and make sure he was alright, some of this weight would come off his shoulders. The only thing he could picture was a broken body, covered in casts, lying in a hospital bed like a corpse. The kid’s tearful eyes when Tony told him about the paralysis, basically ruining the kid’s expectations for his future. All the blood pouring down from his thigh, covering his hands and the bedsheets as he cried out in panic about not being able to feel his legs.

                Tony needed something to take the place of those images. He needed to see Peter.

***

                 Peter was lying on his stomach in bed, face pressed into a too-fluffy pillow. He thought that maybe if it wasn’t so soft and light, it could suffocate him in his sleep. The ones he had at home, old and dense, would probably do the trick.

                Everything here seemed specifically designed to make sure Peter couldn’t do anything to hurt himself. F.R.I.D.A.Y. was on constant alert, so he knew she would announce it to everyone if he tried anything like overdosing or cutting himself—not that his enhanced healing wouldn’t take care of those anyway. He had already checked the window, and while his room was on a higher floor, he was positive the compound, even from the roof, wouldn’t be tall enough to kill him. He’d probably just paralyze the rest of his body, knowing his luck. Now if he could get to the top of the _Avenger’s Tower_ —

                He was pulled from his thought process by a small knock at the door. He groaned loudly at whoever it was. Probably Dr. Banner, for the millionth time that day, to check on him again. This was getting ridiculous.

                “Hey, kid.” Peter whipped his head up at that, recognizing the voice immediately.

                “Mr. Stark,” he croaked, pushing himself up. Or, well, the top half of himself. He was pretty sure he looked like a seal, or like he was in the middle of a yoga session.

                “Can I come in?” Peter nodded and quickly moved to adjust himself to a sitting up position. It took some effort, but when he finally got there Tony walked over and sat beside him on the bed. They were silent for a bit, tension stagnant in the air.

                “So,” Tony began, “I’ve heard you’re making good progress.”

                “Oh, yeah. A little, I guess.” Peter felt the tips of his ears turn red. Mr. Stark talked about him with other people? He hoped they didn’t tell him about his bad days, which sometimes involved cursing people out and almost always involved tears. He didn’t want his mentor to think he was being a baby about all of this. “It’s not much, really. I can move my feet a little, and I’m starting to get some sensation back. That’s about it, though.”

                “Can I see it?”

                “Huh?”

                “Can I see you move your feet?” Tony pointed to his feet, and Peter sensed the blush spreading to his face. He felt like he was a toddler showing off a terrible crayon drawing to his parents. There was no real skill involved. It was humiliating. Still, he obliged and focused in on his feet. There was a small delay, but sure enough his toes curled slightly, then he moved his feet back and forth a couple inches in each direction.

                “That’s amazing,” Tony said quietly, and Peter looked over to find the man smiling genuinely. He felt a smile tug at the sides of his lips, too. He hadn’t really imagined that praise could make his heart swell like it was. He looked down at his lap to hide his face, positive he couldn’t hold back a dumb grin threatening to come out.

                “How have been holding up?” Tony asked after another quiet moment. Peter shrugged. What could he say, really? “What does,” Tony mimicked the shrug, “mean?”

                “It means… I don’t know. I’m fine, I guess,” Peter replied, looking away. He should be grateful for what everyone was doing for him. He was probably getting the best care he could possibly receive, from the most amazing people he could ever meet, and he still felt shitty. God, why’d he have to be such a brat? Why couldn’t he just say thank you and feel happy for once?

                “It’s okay to not be fine, Pete,” Tony offered. Peter’s shoulders sagged.

                “I know, I know. I _am_ fine, really. Or I should be. I don’t know what I’m feeling, I guess I’m just frustrated?” Now the floodgates were open, and Peter could feel a million words sitting on the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t keep any of them back. “I mean, you’re all doing so much for me all the time, and it’s great and I’m thankful, you should know that. But I feel like I’m not getting any better and I’m really trying, I promise. I try so hard every day, but sometimes it’s just too hard, you know? And I know I shouldn’t give up, because none of you guys are giving up, but… Sometimes I think you guys should give up. I don’t know if any of this is worth it.” I don’t know if _I’m_ worth it, he wanted to add.

                “Why wouldn’t it be worth it?” Peter hugged himself tightly, a familiar feeling coming to his throat. He held it back. He didn’t want to cry in front of Tony Stark. He couldn’t.

                “I’m wasting so many resources,” Peter eventually whispered. Part of him hoped he hadn’t been heard.

                 “Excuse me?” Okay, he had been heard. “You’re not wasting anything, Pete. Look at me.” Peter refused for a moment, but gave in and slowly looked over to meet Tony’s eyes. He looked stern. “None of this is a waste, ok? Everyone who’s helping you out is doing it voluntarily, because they care about you. You’re worth it.”

                This time Peter couldn’t hold back his tears. He screwed up his face and searched Tony’s expression, looking for any insincerity he was sure would be there. He didn’t find anything but earnest worry and affection. It made his heart ache.

                “Haven’t you given up on me?” he choked out through shaky breaths.

                “Of course not,” Tony said, taken aback. “Why would you think that?”

                “Y-you never show up to my sessions a-anymore,” he managed to say, only slightly blubbering. He definitely sounded like a baby now. Peter covered his mouth and tried to calm down his breathing.

                Tony was silent for a moment, staring at his own lap. “Yeah,” he muttered. “That one’s on me, I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want me there.” It was Peter’s turn to fall into stunned silence. He stared at his mentor, gears rotating in his mind. Why would Mr. Stark think Peter _didn’t_ want him there? He thought he had been pretty clear in the past how much he looked up to Iron Man. He could almost laugh at the absurdity.

                “ _Of course_ I want you there,” he said, perhaps just a tad too loud. Tony looked at him, eyebrows raised. “I mean… I like having you there. It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t around just to help with physical therapy. That’s all I ever do any more, so it’s good to have a break sometimes. That is, if you want to come. I totally understand if you don’t, so y—”

                Tony raised a hand to cut him off. “I want to be there, kid.” He smiled softly, and Peter felt his body finally relax. He wiped the wetness from his face with his sleeve, embarrassed by how soggy it was when he brought it away from his face.

                “Thank you, Mr. Stark,” he said.

                “You said physical therapy is all you ever do now?” Mr. Stark asked, and Peter nodded.

                “Yeah, I feel like it takes up at least ninety percent of my day. It’s ridiculous.”

                “Alright, then, let’s go,” Mr. Stark said. He stood from the bed and straightened his clothes casually, picking off a nonexistent piece of lint.

                “Go where?” Peter scrunched up his face in confusion.

                “Wherever you want. Let’s just get out of the compound, get some fresh air, feel the wind on our cheeks.” Peter laughed at that, grabbing and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Tony brought his wheelchair closer and allowed him to get in it himself, which Peter appreciated. “So, where to, Underoos?”

                “I don’t care,” Peter replied, and he honestly did not care. He was just thrilled to be doing something different for once. Something outside of his strict, boring routine. “Let’s just go anywhere but here.” He let Tony push his wheelchair along down the corridor, his excitement bubbling up in his chest. Peter let himself smile, too caught up in the moment to be self-conscious about looking stupid. He was too happy to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a brief moment of happiness. Now I have a bunch of really sad stuff lined up, so... yay!


	6. Chapter 6

                 Tony wasn’t sure if he would ever get this kid to take advantage of his money, no matter how hard he pushed for it. He had billions, more than he knew what to do with, and still Peter seemed to feel guilty whenever Tony bought him anything. Now, he had offered to take the kid anywhere he wanted. He was sad about having to be cooped up all the time, so Tony thought they could do something special together to cheer him up. Go out on a yacht, he had suggested. Eat everything on the menu at a luxurious restaurant. Rent out a theme park for the day. Anything.

                But no, those were all “too fancy,” apparently. Tony had scoffed, but it was the kid’s day, so he would do whatever Peter wanted. So here they were in Central Park, munching on dollar-slice pizza and people-watching.

                “This is the greasiest thing I’ve ever had in my life,” Tony muttered, watching as a drop of orange oil slid from the pizza down his hand. He wasn’t even sure this was real cheese.

                “I know, it’s delicious,” Peter replied, stuffing the slice in his mouth. He didn’t seem to mind oil that slid down his chin. Before Tony could offer him a napkin, the kid wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. Dear God, this kid was something else.

                After they were finished with the pizza—Tony had eaten half his slice then gave the rest to the kid—the two strolled around the park. Tony listened while Peter went on and on about the statues, giving random facts and history about each one. The kid was pushing himself in his wheelchair, arms pressing the wheels forward persistently, even as he started to run out of breath. Tony started to worry a little when red started to tinge Peter’s cheeks.

                “That’s my favorite…” he huffed, “statue over there…” he wheezed, “of Balto.”

                “Kid, slow down,” Tony said, chuckling.

                “No, I’m…” he panted, “fine.” Peter waved him off with one hand, but Tony grabbed the handles of the chair to still him. “Hey!”

                “’Hey’ nothing, I said slow down for a second,” he insisted, despite the glare he received from the kid. But Peter did stop, slouching slightly and trying to subtly catch his breath. Tony pushed the chair over to the nearest bench and sat down to rest. He waited for the kid to stop panting before speaking again.

                “You’re allowed to take breaks, you know,” he said.

                “I shouldn’t have to,” Peter replied, looking down at his hands resting in his lap.

                “Oh? Why’s that?” Tony crossed his arms, waiting for an explanation. Peter sighed exaggeratedly, and Tony almost rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

                “You know why.”

                “No, I really don’t,” Tony said, his voice stern. “I don’t know why you keep pushing yourself past your limits. I don’t know why you won’t accept help when you need it. And while we’re at it, I don’t understand why you won’t let me help you make leg braces. Rhodey is perfectly happy with his, and they’ll help you walk—”

                “Because I don’t need them!” Peter yelled, looking at him with an angry expression—something Tony never thought he’d see on the kid. It didn’t suit him. “I’m going to walk again, _on my own_. Everyone said I’ll be able to get better, it’s just going to take some work. I’ll get there, I just need to work _harder_.”

                “Won’t you consider trying them out, just in case?”

                “There is no just in case, Mr. Stark,” Peter said coldly, and something about that made Tony uneasy. Before he could ask what that meant, the kid steeled himself and turned away. “Can we go back home now?”

                “Peter, wait. We can still—”

                “I’m tired, Mr. Stark. I’d like to go back.”

                Tony sighed, but nodded his head. He couldn’t believe he’d screwed this day up. All he needed to do was keep his mouth shut and keep the kid happy, and he couldn’t even do that. Standing, he reached for the handles of Peter’s wheelchair, but the kid took off before he could grab on. He nearly had to jog to keep up, but he didn’t say anything this time. He didn’t say anything the whole way home.

* * *

 

                Peter was sweaty and exhausted when he finally got back to his room at the compound. All he wanted to do was curl up under his covers and cry himself to sleep. Tony didn’t believe in him. He thought Peter would be paralyzed for the rest of his life. He didn’t think Peter was strong enough to get better. He thought it was hopeless.

                His arms were so sore he almost couldn’t make it onto the bed. The thought of falling to the ground and having to call someone in to help him up was humiliating, and gave him the last burst of energy he needed to crawl up onto his covers. He collapsed face-first into a pillow.

                What if he really wasn’t going to get better? What if he had to spend the rest of his life like this? His Spider-Man days would be over, and he could kiss the Avengers goodbye. His “internship” would be obsolete, and his days in the lab with Tony Stark would end. Aunt May would have to work harder to take care of him, and she’d stress over him more than she already did. He’d be a burden.

                Peter felt the fabric around his face dampen with tears as he cried into the pillow. It muffled his sobs for a while, but he eventually had to turn his head in order to breathe.

                He didn’t want to be a burden on anyone, especially not Aunt May. She already did so much for him. She took him in all those years ago, and when Uncle Ben died she still made sure he had a home. She was everything to him, and it broke his heart to think he would cause her any more trouble.

                He could _not_ become a burden. Peter pushed himself over onto his back and wiped snot and tears from his face. He didn’t care what Tony thought, or anyone else for that matter. He was going to walk again, even if that meant he had to turn himself into a medical anomaly, or pull some miracle out his ass. He just had to get his damn legs to work again.

                Peter dropped a fist down onto his thigh forcefully. Only afterwards did he remember his own super strength, paired with the fact that he could barely feel anything below the waist. He pulled himself into a sitting position, leaning on the backboard of the bed. Carefully, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down to just above his knees. There, right where his fist had collided, a pink tinge was forming, the beginning of what he was sure would be a nasty bruise.

                He sighed and poked at it, only feeling a vague twinge form the action. He switched tactics and gave himself a small pinch, but still, barely anything. He remembered what it was like that first time, when he couldn’t even feel being stabbed with a fork. How terrifying that had been, to see the blood pouring out but not feel it drip down his leg. Peter pinched harder, using his nails and drawing a small amount of blood. When he pierced the skin, he could feel it. It was faint, but a familiar, sharp pang shot up his leg.

                He smiled, wiping the blood away with his hand. He stared at the red smear on his palm, and it felt like a mark of victory. He was getting better. Even if no one else could see it, Peter knew it was true. If he just worked harder, showed them he was making progress, they could understand why he was doing this. They could all see why it wasn’t pointless.

Peter knew he was going to get better. He could do this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was kind of a shorter chapter, but I already rewrote it a couple of times and this was what I was most pleased with. Hopefully upcoming chapters will be longer and full of more action. I have several ideas, but of course any feedback or suggestions are great to see!
> 
> Also, I'd like to be clear that anyone with a disability is obviously not a burden and it's not something that should automatically be depressing or shameful, this is just how Peter is thinking about himself. He has a skewed perspective. Just wanted to throw that out there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is a much more light-hearted chapter, because Peter just needs a damn break lol (and so do I, writing angst all the time is exhausting)
> 
> Also sorry for the delay between chapters. I just finished up finals week and I'm on break now, so I actually have time to write :)

                Everyone at the compound started to notice a change in Peter. The kid had more energy coming out of his pinky toe than he had had in the past few weeks. Someone always seemed to be with him at all times, not because of their own doing, but because he was seeking them out. He had each of them helping him in some way or another. Now, along with Natasha, Peter had Clint and Wanda helping him with his daily stretches. He had requested Steve and Sam help him find ways to work on his strength even in his current condition. He and Bruce seemed to always be discussing different methods to get his nerves firing like normal again. The kid almost seemed like he was back to his normal, happy self.

                Almost.

                Tony had been around the kid long enough to realize something was up, and when he called May to ask her about it, she confirmed his suspicions. She, too, had picked up on something weird in her nephew. When he spoke to her on the phone, his voice was fast, and he always seemed eager to hang up and go do something else. Even when she visited May noticed he was always distracted, always wanting to be on the move, always doing something.

                Nobody seemed to be able to slow Peter down. Tony had mentioned to the team that maybe the kid should start taking it easier, so it became a group effort to get Peter to relax. Or, at the very least, do something _not_ related to his legs. So far, no one was succeeding.

                Tony tried to throw a movie night with all the Avengers, something he knew Peter _dreamed_ about. He ordered enough pizza to feed an army, brought probably two dozen pints of ice cream, and rented the latest _Star Wars_ movie. The kid had seen it before, but Tony knew that he’d watch it twenty more times without hesitation. The plan seemed fool-proof, so when Peter rolled in, grabbed a box of pizza, and promptly left, Tony was speechless. How the hell could _he_ fail at getting his protégé’s attention?

                Steve tried staunchly refusing to go to the gym with Peter, offering to grab lunch instead. Peter said he had already learned several good work-out techniques from the Captain, so he was perfectly fine going to the gym alone. “Enjoy lunch, though,” he said cheerily, leaving Steve alone and baffled.

                Bruce tried to goad Peter into reading his latest published article, a 300-page paper in some obscure science journal. “Already read it. Really good, by the way!”

                Pepper asked him to help her organize Stark Industries’ emails. “Of course, Ms. Potts. I can do that on my phone during physical therapy.”

                Clint asked Peter to babysit for him. “Wanda’s _great_ with kids, actually!”

                Natasha straight-up threatened him. “You won’t hurt me, Mama Spider. You love me too much.”

                The kid was good.

                In the end, it was May who pulled out the big guns and suggested calling in reinforcements. This _had_ to work. It was their last chance.

* * *

 

                Peter was sprawled on the floor of his room, sweat beading at his temples. He placed his palms down flat on either side of him, bracing himself with a deep breath. Grunting with effort—and a little pain, he wasn’t going to lie—he focused his energy on his right leg. He strained his entire body, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter. Slowly, he thought he sensed his body giving in to his demands. Keeping his whole body tense, Peter lifted his head and looked down his body. Sure enough, his right leg had moved up a bit, his knee a couple inches from the ground and his foot probably half a centimeter. It wasn’t much, but it was definitely progress.

                Peter relaxed his whole body and let out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t help the smile, so he just grinned stupidly at the ceiling. After a few moments to catch his breath, he placed his palms down flat again and braced himself to work on the left leg.

                A knock at his door stilled him.

                “Hello?” Peter called tentatively. Lately it seemed like everyone was trying to interrupt him in the middle of his work. It was probably Tony again, asking him to come down to the lab and watch him hammer in some nails or something. Or maybe it would be Steve, requesting another lesson on “how to use the World Wide Web.” That had been weird.

                “Peter?” He knew that voice, and it was definitely not one he was used to hearing around the compound. Peter sat up as quickly as he could, dragging himself onto his bed. He nearly pulled off all the sheets in his haste, but he managed to heave himself up—using his legs a little as support, much to his own pride—and sat on the edge. A grin split his face in half.

                “Come in!” The door opened, and Ned stepped inside, instantly returning the grin with his own goofy smile. He crossed the room and basically tackled Peter back onto the bed with a hug. Peter wrapped his arms around his friend, fighting the urge to squeeze him, because crushing his best friend right after seeing him for the first time in months would probably put a damper on the mood.

                “Dude,” Ned breathed, sitting back and holding Peter by the shoulders. “I’m at the Avenger’s compound.” Peter laughed at his friend’s wide-eyed expression, but also realized that’s probably exactly how he looked the first few times he came here, too.

                “You’re at the Avenger’s compound, Ned,” he reaffirmed.

                “I’m at the Avenger’s compound,” Ned said again. He cradled his head in his hands for a moment, looking dazed. When he looked at Peter again, he smiled. “This is _so cool_.”

                They talked and talked for hours, Ned catching Peter up on the latest school drama and Peter sharing stories about what it was like to live under the same roof as Captain America. Ned asked dozens of questions about the Avengers, and Peter was more than happy to share everything with his friend. Finally, he could talk to someone who would be as excited as he was to learn that Black Widow— _the_ Black Widow—drank green tea almost exclusively, or that Hawkeye owned a pair of bunny slippers, or that world-renowned scientist Bruce Banner liked to watch Jeopardy in the afternoon. It was fun to be able to share this stuff with someone.

                It was so fun, in fact, that Peter didn’t think about his paralysis even once.

                That is, until Ned shot up from where he was sitting and asked excitedly to have a tour of the whole compound. He held out his hand to his friend and urged, “Come on, you _have_ to show me.”

                “Um…” Peter looked at his friend’s outstretched hand then let his gaze drop to his own lap.

                “Oh my God,” Ned whispered, and his hand snapped away as if it had been burned. “I’m so sorry, dude, I forgot.” Peter almost wanted to smile, because yeah, he had forgotten, too. It had been nice.

                “It’s okay, Ned, I just…” he trailed off, looking around his room. Of course, he had left his wheelchair across the room. He sighed. Normally, he would just lower himself to the ground and half-crawl/half-drag himself to it. It would be a good opportunity to try using his legs to push his body forward, anyway. But he didn’t want to do that in front of his best friend. He didn’t want more pity than he was already getting.

                That was one of the worst parts of all of this. People looked at him like he was a sick puppy and treated him like he was made of glass. They did everything for him, as if he was suddenly incapable of doing anything on his own.

                Ned’s eyes followed his own, landing on the wheelchair across the room. “Oh, right,” he muttered, probably to himself. When he turned back to his friend, Peter expected Ned to walk over and bring him his chair like he was taking care of an elderly grandfather. So, Peter was more than surprised when Ned held out his hand again.

                “What?” Peter asked, dumbfounded.

                “Let’s go get it,” Ned replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on.” He held out both hands now and gestured to Peter to take them.

                Of course Ned wouldn’t baby him, Peter realized. He was his guy in the chair. He’d help him do anything.

                Smiling, Peter took Ned’s hands in his own and braced himself to be pulled off the bed.

* * *

 

                May and Tony slowly walked out of the elevator and down the hall. They had sent in Ned a few hours ago and hadn’t hear anything since, so they weren’t sure if that was good or bad. Ned had seemed excited to see his best friend again, and he had hardly batted an eye as Tony explained the injuries to him. Surely, it had to go well.

                “So what’s our plan?” Tony asked as they stood outside Peter’s door, anxiously waiting.

                “What do you mean ‘plan?’” May looked at him strangely.

                “Well we can’t just bust in there and say we’re making sure everything’s A-okay, that’s just weird.”

                “What are you talking about? We can just say we’re checking up on them, who cares?” May moved to knock on the door, but Tony gently slapped it away, much to her dismay.

                “They’re teenagers, of course they’ll care. We need an excuse to be coming in. We can ask if they want pizza. Or we can say we have something to show them. I’ve probably got a funny cat video somewhere.” Tony took out his phone and started scrolling. May rolled her eyes.

                “That’s ridiculous. We’re not doing that.”

                A sudden _thump_ from in the room caught both their attentions, and the sound of Peter shouting that came next had them both scrambling to open the door. May got there first and ripped the door open, ready to jump inside and help her baby.

                Everyone froze. Ned and Peter cut their laughter short and looked over at the adults, eyes wide and faces red with embarrassment, as if they had been caught doing something bad. Peter was attached to Ned’s back, arms hugged around his shoulders and legs splayed awkwardly behind on the floor. Ned had ahold of Peter’s arms to secure him in place and seemed to be in the middle of dragging his friend across the room.

                There were a tense few moments where no one moved.

                “Uh…” Tony stuttered, failing to come up with anything to say. May clapped her hands together and smiled at the boys.

                “So who wants pizza?”


End file.
